


Causality

by VanillaRage



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaRage/pseuds/VanillaRage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran cares for a bed ridden Tabris, and tries to distract her by reading her a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Causality

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The story being read by Zevran to Kallian is a rather famous novella by Algernon Blackwood titled The Willows. Small details have been edited to fit the world of Thedas.

In the middle of the bed, under a mountain of blankets in a room where the flame in the fireplace was big, orange bright and radiating off a heat that could chase away even the chilliest of evenings on the coldest day winter could throw at Thedas, there was a small, almost inaudible groan. It was the groan of a person who, despite their best efforts at remaining stoic and brave in the face of the most acute suffering they had ever suffered in the history of suffering, had to give voice to their pain. 

Zevran, who was busying himself over at a basin pouring clean water from a pitcher, heard that pitiful little moan of minor agony and had no sympathy. 

“If you had taken yourself to bed a week ago as I suggested mi amor, you may have found yourself well on the way on the road to recovery by now,” he tsked at the pile of blankets as he wrung out the clean cloth he pulled from the basin. 

The blankets hissed at him as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He ignored the hissing and turned down the blankets to reveal the pale, annoyed face of Kallian Tabris. 

“The last thing I want to hear is your smug I told you so,” she said. Or tried to say anyway; her nose was dripping and her sinuses were closed and it came out more “Da wast ting I wanna hea’ is yo’ ‘mug toluso” and even if she had managed to enunciate all the words properly Zevran would have ignored her anyway. He also would have still prevented her from taking the blanket and pulling it back over her head. 

“Pity, because that’s what you’re going to hear anyway,” Zevran said, replacing the warm, sticky-damp compress on her head with the new one in his hand. “You always push yourself and push yourself until you reach the point of exhaustion and then, sad but true, you collapse. It is lucky I remain by your side to care for you in these times of sickness, as well as health, is it not?”

Kallian didn’t reply with words, choosing instead to merely glare daggers at him. Zevran continued on without remorse. 

“If you had listened to me when you first discovered you had a fever and lain in bed to rest, maybe you could have spared yourself my ‘I told you sos’ as you put it.”

“I had things to do,” Kallian muttered. 

“You hate resting,” Zevran corrected loftily, tucking the blankets around her shoulders as he forced her to lay on her back so the compress could remain on her forehead. “It’s difficult for you to remain still for so long, but I would be a very sad and lonely man if you were to die on me.”

“I’m not gonna die,” Kallian muttered, rolling her eyes. 

“Ah, but I can’t trust you to take care of yourself, now can I?” he said. “You stubborn, pigheaded thing, you.”

“You’re one to talk.” 

He reached down and booped her nose. “I am not nearly as stubborn as you are.” 

The look Kallian gave him was cold, withering, and utterly ineffectual against his disarming grin. “You’re enjoying this far too much, Zevran.” 

“What can I say?” he shrugged. “You need me so little; it gives me joy to provide you with comfort when you are suffering.” 

“You’re adding to my suffering by being a smug little jerk,” she muttered, tugging the blankets to her chin and then immediately throwing them off of her body. 

“If you get up out of the bed, I will be forced to tie you to it,” Zevran threatened. His tone indicated none of the playful innuendo that usually came with that statement. 

Kallian eyed Zevran, trying to gauge how serious he was. She sat up, dangling one leg off of the bed, and remained absolutely still as Zevran continued to stare evenly at her. Slowly, inch by inch, she brought her leg back onto the bed, and sat there, crossed legged and pouted at corner. 

“I have things I could be doing,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “I don’t have time to get sick. And this is boring. I hate resting.” 

Warm arms wrapped around her shoulders and she felt herself being pulled into a strong chest. “I know,” Zevran murmured in her ear. “Would it help if I read to you? Maybe divert your attention away from your illness for a little bit?”

She snuggled into his embrace. “That might be nice, if we had any books.”

“There’s one in the drawer over there,” Zevran offered. “The previous tenant probably left it behind. The Maker knows our landlord certainly didn’t.” 

“The old skinflint would probably charge us a usage fee if he knew it was there,” Kallian growled and then promptly had a coughing fit because the lower timbre of her voice aggravated her cold. “Do you know if you can even read it? I mean, we’re on the border of Nevarra and the Anderfels here. It’s not like we’re gonna have access to….ah, whatsit, culture and shit out here.” 

“Culture and shit,” Zevran repeated, clearly amused. “Such a clever turn of phrase you have.” 

“I’m sophisticated and crap,” she replied before taking a clean rag to her nose and honking into it. She inspected the contents before folding it up in her hand until she needed it again.

“It’s in Common,” Zevran walked over to the desk drawer and picked the book out of the drawer to show her. “I’m under the impression that the author is from the Free Marches. Ostwick, specifically.” 

“Have you already read it?” 

“Yes,” he slipped back behind her and let her settle against him until they were both comfortable. 

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a horror story.”

Kallian considered that and then sneezed loudly. “A horror story? Is it actually scary, or is it kind of stupid? Because I’ll be honest, most of the horror stories I’ve ever heard have run more on the side of stupid than scary.”

“I liked it,” was all Zevran would say about it before pointedly opening up the cover. He cleared his throat and began reading. 

“After leaving Starkhaven, and long before you come to Ansburg, the Minanter enters a region of singular loneliness and desolation, where its waters…”

Zevran’s voice washed over Kallian as he built a picture from the words on the page describing a playground of a river overrun by willow bushes and a distinct lack of anything resembling civilization. The author spent pages describing in loving detail the plants and the environment that the story took place in, placing careful emphasis on the bits that an astute reader would know would become important later and Zevran was a very astute reader. His pitch changed as the story formed, allowing the respect of the narrator for the river to shine through as he read, and his pitch increasing as the river became alive with flooding and heavy winds. The words he read didn’t evoke a feeling of horror, but rather a sense of wonderment. 

For Kallian it brought to mind that year she had spent on the road trying to stop the Blight. There had been times were it had been absolutely awful; the darkspawn, the civil war, constantly being on guard because she didn’t know who was on her side and who had been for Loghain. The amount of quarrels she had stopped because Morrigan was incapable of getting along with anyone, and everyone had a damn problem that needed to be fixed, and she had found herself solving them because she had needed the alliances Maker dammit it all. The living conditions had been barely a step above the squalor of the alienage; more nights than not were spent with only a bit of canvas and a rickety wooden pole that threatened to topple over if the wind blew too hard tokeep her shielded from the elements. 

But…there had been a beauty that came from being free of civilization. For the first time in her life Kallian had the experience of absolute and utter freedom that the humans always seemed to take for granted. There had been many nights where she had basked in the glow of a campfire surrounded by nothing but wilderness, pretending that she wasn’t beholden to anyone or anything and she could do as she pleased. When the night was clear, the fire was warm, and the stars twinkled in the black sky she could taste that freedom. There were more good memories in that blighted year than bad ones…and there had been a lot of bad ones. 

“This isn’t scary,” she pointed out after about fifteen minutes. 

Zevran paused. “Did you want me to stop?”

“It’s not stupid,” she acknowledged grudgingly. “You can keep going if you want.”

Zevran placed a warm palm on her cheek. “It’s not if I want to keep going, love. If this isn’t helping, then I’ll find something else to take your mind off of your illness.” 

“No, no, this is fine,” she placed her own hand on top of his. “I like hearing you read.”

Zevran snorted. “This is a first. Usually you are too busy rolling your eyes and pointing out the plot holes when I read aloud to you.” 

“That’s because usually the stories you read are dumb,” Kallian said flatly.

“I’m aware of your opinion, thank you,” Zevran tweaked her nose lightly in retaliation. “If you’d allow me to teach you to read, you could find stories more palatable to your tastes.” 

“Don’t want to. That’s what I keep you around for,” she retorted between coughing fits. “Are you going keep reading or not?”

“If you want me to.” 

“Yeah, keep going. It’s not scary, but it’s not, y’know, bad.” 

Zevran chuckled as he skimmed along the pages trying to find where he had left off. “Where was I?” he murmured mostly to himself, finger tracing the lines on the page as he looked. 

“The island, I found, was less than an acre in extent, a mere sandy bank standing some two or three feet above the level of the river. The far end, pointing into the sunset…” Kallian supplied before she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to look eager, and followed it up with a weak “you know, blah blah blah look at the river it’s alive and created this island just for us, aren’t we lucky?” 

Zevran picked up where her accurate memory had left off, reading the following sentence like they hadn’t missed a beat. The story had begun its subtle change from admiration of the River to the insidious feeling of being watched by forces not of this world, and Kallian found herself clutching the blanket with a white knuckled grip. Her nose was running and she absent mindedly used her own sleeve to wipe at the snot. 

“That’s disgusting,” Zevran broke off his description of a torn canoe and a missing paddle that left the two protagonists stranded on the sandy makeshift island so he could reach over to grab a clean rag she could use instead. 

“Oh thanks,” Kallian made grabby hands at the handkerchief. “My sleeve’s getting all crusty.” 

Zevran made a little disgusted noise in his throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Didn’t want to interrupt you. You seem to be really into it.” 

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s really into it,” he commented drily. “Your last sneeze was positively dainty. I almost thought it a mouse.” 

Kallian shifted a bit in his arms, and it had nothing to do with her trying to get comfortable. “Okay so…yeah. This isn’t completely dumb.” 

“You already gave it that lofty praise earlier,” he pointed out, and by sheer effort managed to keep the laughter out of his tone. 

“Well, Andraste’s tits, it’s giving me a case of the willies,” Kallian exclaimed excitedly. “I mean, I know exactly what those guys are feeling. It’s really taking me back, you know?””

He blinked down at her. “Takes you back to where? We’ve never gone down the Minanter River. Or any river, for that matter. Nor were we ever the target of supernatural forces beyond our ken.” 

“What in the world is ken? Why do you use words you know I don’t know?” Kallian pinched his thigh and grinned at his quick hiss of pain. “I meant back then. You know.” 

Zevran did know. He closed the book, keeping his finger between the pages to keep his place as he regarded her quietly. “This story is reminding you of when we fought the Arch-demon?”

“Yes. Trying to get all those alliances, and all those nights we had to spend camping. Do you remember the Temple?”

“Of course I remember the Temple,” Zevran said accusingly. “You rang the gong.” 

“Whoops…?”

“…Whoops”

“But the Temple was creepy, right? It had all those ghosts and people in it. It felt all tingly, like we weren’t supposed to be there.” 

“The Cult of Andraste certainly didn’t want us there,” Zevran commented. 

“That’s not what I meant. And quit being thickheaded, because you do know what I mean,” Kallian said. “There’s places where it feels…thin. Like there’s another world beyond this one. The Brecilian Forest was like that too. I think of that year every time I feel it, and this story is making me think of how it feels when the air feels thin, and that makes me think of that year. It’s a cycle.” 

He put the book down and used his arms to wrap around her shoulders. Kallian was superstitious where he wasn’t, and she often claimed things felt ‘runny’ when they were around ancient ruins and old temples which, now that he thought about it, happened far more often than he thought it did. He never felt anything odd or out of place, but there was no harm in her feelings, so he just never bothered to disagree on it. Instead he focused on the topic at hand he could relate to. 

“I didn’t realize you thought so much about the past,” he said. 

“Well, not on purpose,” she amended. “Just certain things bring that to mind. Just like how the smell of leather makes you think of home, right?” 

He conceded her point. 

“That year was a big deal for me,” she said. “Wasn’t it a big deal for you too?”

Zevran mulled that thought over in his head for a little bit. “You could say that,” he said carefully. 

To say that the year he had helped Kallian defeat the Archdemon was a big deal was putting it mildly. There weren’t enough words in Common or Antivan or any of the known languages that could possibly convey on how much that year had changed his life. It was such a big thing that he’d never really could break it down and consider it in pieces. He’d never thought to. 

Up until he had tried to commit suicide by Grey Warden, his life had followed a series of events that had lead from one point until another. For being an Assassin, his life had been very linear; this thing caused that thing, until he found himself trussed up like a pig under the dubious care of a very striking woman and a rather handsome man who were both understandably concerned that he had just tried to end their very important mission. 

After that his life had gone peculiar. Everything had stopped being linear and while it was very true that you could see why this had happened because of that in hindsight, there was no way of knowing what the future held in the present. In the Crows his life had rigid structure, and he knew the consequences and the rewards to any behavior as well as he knew his own name. Kallian didn’t operate in rigid discipline, or in terms of long term strategy. She did what she wanted, when she wanted it, and he was more than willing to tag along for the ride.   
How could he even begin to articulate that? For him there was only Before and After. He preferred After. 

“Are you going to finish reading?” Kallian picked up the book and thumbed the spine. “I kinda want to know how this ends.”

As Zevran picked the book back up and flipped through the pages to find where he left off, he thought that he wouldn’t mind seeing how this one ended either.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This story was inspired from the Non-Sexual Intimacy prompt reading a book together.   
> You can find a [Collected Masterpost](http://vanillarage.tumblr.com/post/131465869354/fanfiction-masterpost) of my work through that link.


End file.
